The Revenge Of Moriarty
by LALALALA I'M NOT LISTENING
Summary: What the title says. It's by my big sis! She owns this one! This one story but only one chap so far. And if you guys ask nicely, she might even update! I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK HOLMES BBC! PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!


**I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK BBC!**

* * *

**The Revenge of Moriarty**

**ch 1**

"What?" said the tall man, carrying a heavy British accent. "Who?!" he shouted,

spinning around to full view as his elder brother broke the unexpected news to him.

"I know you are in shock, Sherlock, and so am I." said Mycroft, pausing for a moment to let the news sink in. He thought for a second, and then scowled at Sherlock. "Why are you so affected by this?" Mycroft sneered. "Just because our 18 year old sister was murdered doesn't mean we go all the way mourning for her. Just because-"

"What you didn't do in the first place was provide the proper security in the first place! And I thought better of you, since you ARE the British Government!"Sherlock started to put his coat and shirt on. This time, his brother stared at him questionably. All his life, he had never seen his little brother being so affected by emotions, so controlled. Being Mycroft, he never knew what 'love' was. In his mind, caring is not an advantage.

"Where?..." He trailed off. Then he composed himself. "Where exactly are you going, Sherlock? I thought you were going to our sister's murder scene at-" Mycroft was interrupted.

"I'm going there anyways. I am certain that this is the work of Moriarty. Now, enough, Mycroft. I'm surprised that Scotland Yard did not let the British Government into her flat." He retorted, over exaggerating." Goodbye, Mycroft. And don't send your eyes and ears all over London." And with a salute, the great detective went out the door as fast as a rabbit in front of a prairie fire.

Mycroft sneered. _Bet the Scotland Yard would not let him in._ Mycroft thought, sighing dramatically. _But then again, he's Sherlock._ With another dramatic sigh, Mycroft slipped out of the flat and into the sleek black limo that was waiting for him.

* * *

Meanwhile, the detective already arrived at the crime scene, screaming at the inspector.

"Graham! This is MY sister's murder scene! You have to let me into the flat for God's sake!" This time, the detective inspector hesitated. He wasn't sure if he should let the victim's brother into the flat or not. They all knew that the consulting detective would go mad as a hatter when he sees the bloody corpse of his own sister. Lestrade could already see the crazed look on Sherlock for not letting him solve this murder.

"No, Sherlock, you are not going to solve this murder. It is for your own good. I know that she's your sister, but you shouldn't-"Before Lestrade could finish his sentence, the young Holmes already barged inside the flat. Lestrade shook his head at Anderson, who responded with a nod of his head. "So," Lestrade started. "Your fan club already checked."

"Yup," Anderson replied. "He'll be going mad."

"No clues whatsoever?"asked Lestrade, worry evident in his voice.

"No fingerprints, no footprints, no mini security cameras, no nothing." He said sighing. " Well, you know Sherlock, he can get the whole 'why' and 'how' even with hardly any evidence at all." The inspector said. "And besides, he always gets my name wrong."

* * *

At the same time Anderson and Lestrade was having this conversation, Sherlock was already listing the things that he didn't know before examining her room. However, he didn't act even a bit disturbed by the dead body.

"Ryderlyn was obviously tortured to death, now, that's not the important part yet. Moriarty was making sure he did not leave any evidence whatsoever so that he would land himself behind bars for the second time. Ryderlyn had a heavy security system, with cameras in every corner of each room.

When the detective was yammering about his deductions, Lestrade noticed that there was a really small, mechanical spider under the wardrobe.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade turned to him.

"I know what you are going to ask, as to what you are looking at, and the unmistakable look of a question formulating on your face. And no, this is just one of the fake cameras my sister had installed in this room .The other ones are far harder and difficult to find. Now shut up." He paused for dramatic effect, as he finished his train of thought. "I know now for certain that this is the work of Moriarty. I must take vengeance on him."

"I must go now…"Those were his last words as he left the crime scene soundlessly. The consulting detective heaved as sigh as he left the flat of his beloved sister, the only girl in the family that was considered "a normal human being." When they heard the news of Ryderlyn dead, Mycroft did not seem at all affected by this piece of news. But for Sherlock, it was a huge issue. So he started an argument about the security in her apartment involving a spatula, a violin, and an old copy of_ Othello_. They finally calmed down, and they decided to tell their parents about Ryderlyn dead, and guess what? They didn't give a bother about it.

Sherlock sneered at the thought of Moriarty, and then went into the awaiting cab.

* * *

At 221B, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, found a letter at the door addressed to 'William Sherlock Scott Holmes', which she assumed was Sherlock, so she left it on the kitchen table in Sherlock's flat.

* * *

A few minutes later, Sherlock arrived at his flat.

"Sherlock, dear!"The voice came from the basement. Obviously Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock sighed; tired of answering ridiculous questions from people whose brains are barely used.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson?" He replied.

"There's a letter addressed to you. It's in the kitchen!"

"Good to know!" He replied once again. When Sherlock arrived in the kitchen, he did indeed see the brown edged German envelope sitting on the IKEA table. One look at the letter, he knew immediately what it was.

It was a note.

From the Napoleon of Crime himself.

The consulting criminal.

Moriarty.


End file.
